


The Quest for the Demon King's Heart

by CR Noble (erudite12)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventurer!Castiel, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Demon King!Dean, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Injury, Minor Character Death, Rough Sex, Smut, Top!Cas, Wood Elf!Castiel, bottom!Dean, fantasy!au, true form!Dean, writersofdestiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-05 15:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erudite12/pseuds/CR%20Noble
Summary: In a fantasy land, Dean, the Demon King, goes to a distant guild to take a break from evil, where he meets a young adventurer, Castiel, on a quest to slay the Demon King. For fun, Dean helps and protects the adventurer, and affection grows between them. Then, they arrive at the gates of his castle.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Pairing:** Destiel
> 
> **Characters:** Dean Winchester, Castiel,  Xyrrantid (Ancient Gold Dragon), various unnamed fantasy creatures
> 
> **Bingo Square:** G1 Angry Make Up Sex
> 
> **Word Prompt:** Fantasy
> 
> A huge thanks to everyone in the Writers of Destiel discord server who helped me with my snippets and D&D referencing 
> 
> And an extra special thank you to [cutelittlekitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutelittlekitty/pseuds/cutelittlekitty) for being willing to beta this even though I make your life difficult with extraneous apostrophes and repeating phrases and word count limitations. 

 

Sitting on his throne was boring, Dean decided. He needed something more in his life. The days came and went, and nothing ever changed. Sure, the castle was beautiful and he was powerful; his subjects showered him with adoration, at least as much as earth-bound demons were able to. But it had been centuries since someone had come to challenge him. Hundreds of years since the last time he’d had any real fun. Who knew being the King of Demons could be so dull?

Dean had become stagnant. It left an unpleasant taste in his mouth, admitting that to himself. If things continued this way, he would probably fuse with the bones that built his seat of power and become unmoving, unmovable. He longed for the taste of fresh air, and the sensation of blood on his talons; missed the heat of battle and the bloodlust singing through his veins as his enemies ran from his utterly horrifying war cries.

Perhaps it was time for a vacation. Dean could journey to that Warrior’s Guild in Whitebridge. His identity could be hidden easily. Maybe he could join and finally have some fun. Perfunctory adoration aside, he was fairly certain his subjects would not miss him. It was unlikely they would even notice the King was gone. Evil deeds would certainly continue in his absence. His mind made up, Dean waited for the darkness of night before leaving his palace to begin what he hoped would be the adventure of a lifetime.

* * *

The impact of Castiel’s wooden practice sword against the well-used mannequin jarred his arm, but he ignored it, continuing to move through the forms he’d learned in his years as a warrior. His well-muscled body and quick reflexes were evidence of the time he’d spent perfecting his skills with sword and bow. He was a capable warrior, even among his own kind, and it would not be an exaggeration to say that Castiel’s skills in battle put many humans to shame.

Still, most members of the Warrior’s Guild in Whitebridge did not take him seriously. They knew nothing of the conquests he’d shared with his gwenyr in the forests of Isynlenor. Nor would they, as Castiel did not often speak of his past. He rarely found someone whom he felt worthy of stories of his home and history. It was just as uncommon that someone chose to take the time to listen, to learn about him.

He was old by human standards, but barely into adulthood for an elf. For the past five years, Castiel had spent most of his time training, patiently waiting for the guild leaders to bestow upon him a quest. Time and again, they overlooked the elf. Each mission came and was assigned to men or women less capable than he.

The mundanity of his life made him weary. His destiny awaited, and Castiel would take it by force if necessary. This quest was meant for him.

The heart of the Demon King would be his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! Share your own fantasy ideas! Yell at me! 
> 
> Or come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I didn't mention this in the notes at the beginning of this fic, but I managed to stick to some pretty stringent word counts for this. Apparently, I enjoy a challenge. **Who knew?**
> 
> Anyway, with the exception of the prologue (which is a lovely 500 words), every single chapter of this fic is _exactly_ 1K. It was actually very difficult, and lots of fun to give myself the extra brain pains. ~~And screech when my chapter seemed perfect and I had to cut 70 words~~

It had been so very long since Dean left his palace that he had forgotten how big other cities were. Whitebridge was vast, covering far more land than the grounds of his home, and with a ridiculous number of people. The streets were clogged with pedestrians, carts and carriages, and the bustling energy of the peasantry was contagious. Fortunately, the smell was not. It should have taken him weeks to arrive, but Dean relied heavily on his demonic abilities, and in his true form his wings had carried him to the city in only a few days time. It helped that sleep wasn’t a requirement, though he’d stopped more than once to rest his body.

The Warrior’s Guild had readily accepted him… with, perhaps, a bit of persuasion on his part. Dean was now believed to be a human battle mage, ready to be sent on any quest that might come his way. From the talk going around the Guild, it was never a very long wait for one. For now, he would enjoy his time in Whitebridge, he thought, as he pushed his way through the door of a tavern called The Dawn’s Pail. It was busy, people gathering around the fire and listening to whatever nonsense song the bard was singing. Ordering an ale from a very busty wench, Dean watched the people in the tavern as he drank.

When the dark-haired wood elf strode through the door, his third flagon was nearly empty. Dean was sure he had seen the man before, possibly at the guild. He was as tall as one might expect of an elf, but he seemed… denser, for lack of a better word. In the Demon King’s extensive experience, most elves were tightly muscled and compact, their features delicate and ethereal. This one was different. His face certainly had the same otherworldliness Dean had seen in the many elven races, but his countenance was more rugged. His shoulders were wide, and his bulging biceps appeared to have green vines tattooed around them. His skin was golden-brown, and there were light traces of green across his cheeks, probably other places too, but it was hard to tell with only the light provided by the fire. But his most striking feature, by far, was the bright clear blue of his eyes. It was a rare color in any race, but for wood elves, in particular, it was unheard of.

He carried a longsword on his back and wore soft, tan leather from his sleeveless tunic to the boots that covered his feet. Somehow he managed to look as though he was exactly where he was meant to be, even while appearing out of place. Dean found himself moving across the floor of the tavern, intrigued. He had come to this town looking for excitement, and he had a niggling feeling that this was how he would find it.

“You are a long way from home, stranger,” Dean said as he approached. The bright blue eyes turned to him, and for a moment he was caught in the intensity of the gaze. Like most of his kind, the elf’s face was nearly expressionless, and only a twitch at the corner of his eye gave away his surprise at being approached in the tavern. Humans, Dean knew from experience, had a nasty habit of disliking anyone or anything that wasn’t quite like them. Though in all fairness, elves generally weren’t particularly fond of humans, either.

“I am.” The answer was simple and direct, but clearly not in any way intended to be rude. The Demon King was unphased by it, being well aware that this was simply the way the people of the forest spoke.

“I have also traveled far to come to Whitebridge.” Dean paused to order another ale from the rough looking man behind the counter. “I am sure I’ve seen you before. Are you a member of the Guild?”

An almost imperceptible downturn of his new companion's lips. Irritation? Annoyance, perhaps. “Yes. That is likely where we have crossed paths.”

Dean nodded, accepting a full flagon with a smile. “Agreed. I haven’t been here long. My name is Dean.”

“I am called Castiel.” The elf sipped at his own drink, making no attempts to either continue or end the conversation. Now that Dean was closer to him, he could see he’d been right about the green tints in the man’s skin. There was more at the outer edges of his brow and near the tips of his long, pointed ears.

“It is good to meet you, Castiel. Have you been in Whitebridge very long?”

“That is quite a subjective question. I have been here for five years. That is, perhaps, a long time to many humans, but an eye-blink to me.”

“You must have many stories of adventure.” Dean saw the identical, if barely existent, frown cross Castiel’s lips again.

“I have only just received my first quest.”

It was a surprising thing to hear. At first glance, the elf seemed quite capable. “What is the object of this quest?”

“The end of the Demon King.” So, they did still send people to kill him. This could be very interesting. Dean smiled, satisfied that this was definitely the thrill he had left his throne for.

“No one has even made it to his palace in a century or more. Are you planning on doing this alone?”

“No one has offered any assistance.”

“If you’re amenable to it, I would like to join you.”

Castiel regarded him keenly for a long moment, head tilted slightly to one side. “There are many dangers on the way to his kingdom. It would be good to have someone at my back. It has been a long time since anyone fought at my side.”

“I am familiar with the sentiment.” Dean nodded to himself as the two companions sat in a comfortable silence.

“Very well. We will depart at dawn.” Castiel turned away and swiftly walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First official meeting? Questing together? Castiel makes a hot elf! 
> 
> Tell me what you think! Share your own fantasy ideas! Yell at me! 
> 
> Or come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel had not expected to have company on his journey, but it hadn’t been a lie when he’d told Dean he would be glad for the comrade-in-arms. Though most humans would travel on horseback, Castiel preferred to remain on foot. Hopefully, his recently acquired companion would be receptive of the idea. His sword hung from his belt, allowing him to settle his pack, with a short bow and his quiver attached to it, on his back before heading for the southern gate leading out of Whitebridge. He felt confident, ready to begin the long trek and fulfill his destiny.

Dean was already at the gate when Castiel arrived, leaning leisurely against the wall of the high stone watchtower. He was clad almost entirely in black, the well-made tunic tight across his chest and cinched at the hip by an ostentatious, ruby adorned belt. A cloak of deep red hung from the man’s broad shoulders, almost reaching his knees. While Dean’s skin had clearly spent a fair amount of time in the sun, it was comparatively pale, and the black contrasted starkly against it. Freckles spread across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and his light brown hair was shorter than the usual style human men kept and swept to one side. When he looked up, Castiel was met with his forest green eyes, the excitement in them almost tangible. He carried no pack and no visible weapons, which came as a surprise for a member of the Warrior’s Guild.

Castiel had worn his usual tan and green, intended to make blending into forest surroundings easier, not that he really needed it, but Dean’s red and black garb would negate any effort at concealment as they traveled. He doubted his choice to accept the man as his companion for a moment. After all, he looked more like he belonged in the court of a king than on a dusty forest trail with an adventuring warrior. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so quick to judge the human.

“Where are your weapons?” Castiel asked anyway, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt but still confused. He glanced around, thinking that Dean might have set his things down while he waited, but saw nothing.

“I don’t carry weapons. I’m a battle mage.” Dean held his hands up in front of him with a charming smile. “These are my weapons.”

“And your other supplies? This journey will last for many weeks.”

Dean pulled back part of the cloak, revealing a purse dangling from the bejeweled belt. How could that possibly hold all of the human’s supplies? “It's spelled.” He pulled the thin twine, opened the small pouch and reached into it, his arm disappearing up to the elbow. “It’s bigger on the inside, you see.”

Castiel knew of bags like this one, but he had never seen one so small. He was glad now, that he had reserved judgment until receiving further information. The man was, in fact, prepared. There would be other towns on the way where they could stop and replenish whatever they needed, and Castiel knew there would be no shortage of hunting and foraging that could be done as they traveled. With that settled, the two men fell in step with each other and left the city.

They kept to the main road for most of the day, only diverging when the sky began to darken and Castiel suggested they find somewhere to camp for the night. It had been uneventful, but it was to be expected that they wouldn’t have troubles until they were further into the wilderness. They came upon a copse in the woods large enough to offer protection as they slept with plenty of room for Dean to set up his shelter and perhaps have a fire to cook the rabbit Castiel had shot.

It was unnerving to watch Dean’s arm vanish into his magicked pouch again, only to return clasping a large cloth that he tied up between a few of the trees. He set about building himself a fire as Castiel climbed onto the lowest branch of a thick-trunked oak tree. He sat with his back against the bark and observed as his companion made himself a comfortable camp and roasted the rabbit on a stick over the fire, whistling cheerfully as he waited for his dinner. Castiel had never traveled with a human before, but he was used to the others at the Guild questioning some of his behaviors. Dean, however, did not question Castiel’s preference for sleeping in the tree, he simply went about taking care of his own necessities. It made for a comfortable camaraderie between them, and already he found himself enjoying the company.

“Would you like some of this?” Dean asked, waving the roasted meat in Castiel’s direction. The pleasant smell of it wafted through the air and his stomach growled. Uneventful as the day had been, it had still been many hours had since last he ate. He jumped from the branch, landing gracefully a few feet away from Dean.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, taking the large chunk of meat Dean held out to him, “thank you.” They ate in the same easy silence they’d spent most of that day in. Even after they finished the meal, Castiel stayed by the fire with Dean.

“If it's not prying, may I ask what brought you to the Warrior’s Guild?” the human asked. Castiel fixed him with an intense gaze, trying to gauge the reason for his question. As if he could read the thought, Dean continued, “It's just, in my experience, wood elves don’t leave their forests without good reason.”

“It was fate for me to leave the trees of Isynlenor. It led me to Whitebridge and the Warrior’s Guild.”

Dean simply nodded. They snuffed the fire and cleaned up their mess, replacing everything in Dean’s magic pouch before Castiel resumed his place in the tree and Dean settled into his makeshift shelter to sleep for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

Traveling in his true form had taken much less time, but Dean was enjoying the trek through the woods so far. Castiel was not much for talking, but it didn’t bother Dean. The forest was resplendent, bright and alive with all manner of greenery and animals. Unlike some of his demon brethren, he very much appreciated the beauty of this world, and of life in general. He certainly spent no small amount of the day admiring the beauty of his elven companion. What to do about Castiel? He chose not to think about it. He simply wanted to enjoy the time they had on this adventure. Although truth be told, it had been extremely uneventful so far and Dean was itching for some excitement.

The sun was high in the blue sky, picturesque light streaming through the canopy of leaves above them, when Castiel suggested they break for lunch. Dean followed him off the path to a small clearing and sat at the base of a tree as the elf reached into his pack, pulling out two small bundles wrapped in brown cloth and holding one out. Dean took it and pulled the string, revealing a colorful array of berries. It wasn’t exactly the ideal meal for him, as he was mostly a carnivorous creature, but in the interest of keeping his companion unaware of his true identity, he ate them anyway. There would probably be more meat for their supper.

“You said you also traveled a long way to reach the guild. Do you miss your home?” Castiel asked. He was earnest, as always, and Dean knew he was asking out of genuine curiosity, and so he answered as honestly as he could.

“Not particularly.” He chewed and swallowed a handful of berries before continuing. “It was beautiful there, but boring. Stagnant, really. Everyone expected me to be a certain way, and I grew tired of meeting those expectations, so I left. I’m not even sure anyone has noticed my absence.”

Castiel nodded thoughtfully as he picked at his own lunch. He hadn’t bothered to sit, probably wanting to be done as quickly as possible and get back on the road. “I miss my home. The forests there, my family. The trees there sing, did you know that? Here, they are quieter. I hear them talking with each other, but they never sing.”

The melancholy wistfulness in his voice pulled at Dean’s heart, but he knew there was nothing he could say to ease the ache of homesickness. In his long existence, he’d never heard a tree speak, perhaps it was something only wood elves were privy to. As a breeze blew through the clearing, branches seemed to reach toward Castiel, and Dean could almost imagine that the trees were offering what little comfort they could.

“I’ve never been to Isynlenor, but it sounds beautiful,” Dean finally offered. He received what he’d come to know was a smile from the elf, though it was little more than a slight upward curve at one corner of his mouth.

“It’s the most beautiful place you could ever hope to see. The leaves there never turn color or fall from the limbs.” Castiel paused, regarding Dean again with those serious eyes. “There is beauty to be found in the kingdoms of human as well.”

Dean nodded his agreement, retying the string around his now empty cloth and tossing it to his companion. It came as a surprise when Castiel let it fall to the ground. “Is everything alright?”

Castiel lifted a single, long finger to his lips, silencing Dean. The elf stood completely still, head tilted to one side and his eyes closed. He must be listening to something, the trees perhaps?

“There is trouble,” he said simply as he moved toward the center of the clearing and drew his sword. Dean was on his feet far more quickly than any human would’ve been, and his back was against Castiel’s when the halfling appeared from behind a tree.

While the halfling had been almost completely silent, his companions were not as they stepped out of the treeline and surrounded the two warriors. Dean counted six men; there could be more but it was clearly a group of highwaymen, so it was more likely this was all of them.

“Hand over your packs and purses and I will tell my men not to kill you,” the halfling said smugly. The large men surrounding them drew their weapons, swords and hammers, and held them menacingly as they waited for Dean and Castiel to comply. With his elven companion unable to see his face, Dean didn’t bother to hide the vicious grin that was too wide and toothy for any human, or the flash of red that overtook the usual green of his eyes. This was going to be fun.

A silent spell and a large broadsword appeared in Dean’s hands, swathed in the smoky red of demonic conjuration magic. The men were closing in on them and he was more than ready for the approach, a primal roar escaping him as he swung the broadsword at the closest enemy. The man was rent clean in half and Dean had already moved onto the next, parrying a hammer-blow and running the man through. He ignored the blood dripping down his hands and turned to take on the next attacker only to see the barbarian swinging his hammer at Castiel’s back. Hoisting the conjured broadsword in one hand, Dean threw a bolt of dark magic at the man. It froze him in place and drew a bloodcurdling scream from him as his skin bubbled and peeled off, and in a matter of moments, his weapon had fallen to the ground and he was dead. It had given Castiel the time he needed to finish off his opponents.

Dean turned to take down their halfling leader, but he had disappeared during the melee. The look he and Castiel shared was clear: it was time to move along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, this little fight scene isn't very long, but I personally love it when Dean gets all murdery haha. How about you guys? 
> 
> Or come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> OMG LOOK AT THE LOVELY ELF CAS! AND THEN GO ON TUMBLR TO YELL AT MY WONDERFUL FRIEND [WINCHESTER-OFTHE-LORD](https://winchester-ofthe-lord.tumblr.com//) FOR MAKING IT! HE'S SO BEAUTIFUL!!!!! 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I didn't have to cut or add any words to this chapter when I got it back from my beta. 

Castiel wouldn’t lie to himself, if Dean hadn’t been there when those bandits attacked, he likely would have died. He was more than grateful; he was indebted to this human that had saved his life. Being in someone’s debt was not something Castiel normally enjoyed. He would have to repay the man somehow.

“At least the last week has passed without incident,” Dean said, walking beside him. He almost sounded disappointed. Not to be unexpected, Castiel supposed. Most people who chose to be in the Warrior’s Guild were seeking adventure, with all the danger and glory that went along with it. He’d clearly enjoyed the short battle with the bandits. Castiel still wondered how he’d managed to defeat the three hulking barbarians so quickly. He’d never seen a human move so fast, and the magic Dean used had made the elf’s skin tingle and itch, though he couldn’t be sure why.

“There will surely be more dangers to face.” Castiel glanced over at the man as they made their way. He still wore that ridiculous red cape. The thing made him stick out like a sore thumb, but if he was able to defeat a group of armed attackers with the ease he’d shown against the highwaymen, Castiel didn’t think it really mattered whether he could blend in. He saw the extravagant garb as what it was, a show of power.

“I certainly hope so. The rest of the journey will be profoundly boring if nothing happens. Though I have found myself enjoying your company more than I expected to.” Dean sounded genuinely surprised at that, and Castiel suppressed a grimace at the strange human concept that it was not possible to enjoy the company of an elf. It was something he faced often at the guild, and he had learned to brush it off like an errant crumb on his tunic.

“I have come to enjoy my time with you as well, Dean,” Castiel responded quietly. It was true, even in their comfortable silences, that he found it pleasing to share his quest with the man. He could, perhaps, even say he counted Dean among those he would call muin’ellon, friend. “I would like to know more about you, if that is permissible.”

“There isn’t much to know, but you are welcome to ask.” There was something in the way Dean spoke that seemed to put Castiel at ease and make his questions about the man’s past slip away, quickly forgotten.

“Have you seen many battles? You handled yourself much more capably than I had expected.”

“I’ve seen a few,” Dean answered noncommittally. He was downplaying his experience. Castiel could tell in the lilt of his voice and the tightness in his jaw as he spoke. “I am very good at what I do. I had many years of practice before I left home.”

“You don’t think of home the way I do, Dean. As a place you would like to return one day.” Castiel found this curious. In his experience, elves and humans alike put a high value on the place they came from. But Dean did not speak of his home nostalgically; he spoke of it as though he was glad to be rid of it.

“I prefer the excitement of travel.”

They walked in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s presence until a swift breeze blew through the branches overhead and the whispering of the trees was loud enough for Castiel to hear. Someone was coming, someone the oaks surrounding them saw fit to warn him about. “We should hide, Dean.” He expected an argument, but his companion simply nodded and stepped off the path.

Castiel moved into the foliage on the opposite side and crouched low, his natural camouflaging ability granting him near invisibility in the high grass among the trees. He peered across the road to where Dean had hidden among the trees, expecting to see some evidence of the man in his bright red cloak. He was surprised to see nothing at all. Even in the forest where he’d spent most of his life, he had been able to spot his brethren through the mask of the wild. Where had his muin’ellon gone? How had he disappeared so completely? Perhaps he would ask when they were able to continue on the road. He set his questions to the back of his mind and looked to the road ahead, where the whispering trees had warned him of the approaching enemy.

A few moments passed, and a man standing only about three feet tall approached Castiel’s hiding place. It was a halfling, the ringleader of the bandits that had attempted to rob them during their midday meal a week ago. He appeared to be alone, this time, meandering down the path with a sour look on his face. He was mumbling to himself as he walked, bare feet kicking up small clouds of dust in his wake. Though the halfling’s low voice might be imperceptible to humans, Castiel’s superior hearing meant he caught nearly every word.

“Blasted human… all of my men… what kind of magic… tree-hugging elf…” His mutterings were more of the same as he continued past. It was amusing that the little man was still angered by the defeat of his warriors, but some of the musings caught Castiel’s attention. Was the magic Dean used odd for a human? Perhaps that was why it had the effect on the elf that it did. Even thinking about it made his hair stand on end. No matter how much closer he felt to Dean as they passed the days together, each moment brought new questions. His companion certainly was not the sharing type.

When the little halfling was out of sight, Castiel rose from the tall grass and stepped out onto the open path. Before long, Castiel found himself shocked by Dean materializing from thin air, wearing a crooked smile, a short distance away. His human muin’ellon was a very curious man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you remember me talking about my bastardized Sindarin? Well... muin'ellon is a contraction of the words _muin_ , meaning dear, and _mellon_ , meaning friend. 
> 
> Basically I make up stuff. At least it's good stuff, right? 
> 
> Or come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

Dean was glad to see Kara’s Vale as they approached. They were running a bit low on provisions, and even if he didn’t miss his palace, he missed having a roof over his head. “Perhaps we should rest here for a day or two and replenish our supplies before we continue on. I don’t know about you, my friend, but I could use a drink.”

“Very well, we can stay for a day. There is an inn here that will be able to provide you with a drink and a bed.” Castiel shifted the pack on his shoulder as they crossed a stone bridge over the small creek between them and the tiny town. Dean watched him carefully. Though they had grown closer in the weeks since they left Whitebridge, the elf seemed more suspicious than ever. Perhaps it was only the paranoia of travel, but Dean couldn’t be too careful with his identity.

“What about you? Will you not take a bed at the inn? Even in the town, we will be safer if we stay close.” He knew the elf preferred sleeping high in the branches of a tree, with only a blanket of stars over him, but Dean had grown used to his presence and preferred to stay together.

Castiel sighed knowingly and looked at Dean with resignation in his eyes, though a smile tugged, just barely, at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose sleeping inside can’t be that bad.”

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon when they pushed through the door of The Giant’s Heart Inn and Tavern. It was busy, but not overly crowded, for which Dean was thankful. Sleep wasn’t a necessity for him in his true form, but keeping up this human disguise was wearing, especially coupled with the weeks of travel. His elven companion, on the other hand, never seemed to run out of energy.

A sturdy blonde woman stood behind the counter at the inn and she eyed Castiel warily as they approached. Funny how humans seemed to be so concerned by the elf, and not at all by Dean. Of the two of them, the Demon King was certainly more of a threat to their lives. “Two rooms for the night, please.” Dean slapped two gold coins down on the counter and slid them toward the woman.

She pocketed both with a polite smile and said, “Only one room available. You and your… companion will have to share.” She slid a long, thin metal key across the counter, imitating what Dean had done with the coins.

He stifled a groan as he took it. He didn’t mind the idea of sharing his space with Castiel, but this would’ve been his first opportunity in weeks to rest in his true form. He needed the time to recharge, but he supposed sleeping in his human form would have to do for now. “Fine. I’d like to order an ale, and some supper as well, for myself and my companion.”

“Of course.” The blonde nodded and went about getting their drinks. She set the twin flagons on the countertop. “Dinner will be served at half seven; you are welcome to any table, or if you like I can have one of the maids bring it up to your room.”

“We will eat here. Thank you.” Dean handed one of the tall mugs of ale to Castiel and made his way to a table close to the fire, but not too close to the singing bard. He wanted to relax, drink his ale, and sleep. Nothing else seemed overly important at that moment.

“I will sleep outside if you are uncomfortable with sharing the room,” the elf said after taking a long drought of beer.

“What? No, I don’t mind sharing a room. We need to stay together. If you sleep out there and someone, or something, attacks you, I will be of no use to you unless we are close.” Dean found that the idea of being separated from Castiel disturbed him. He chose not to investigate the feeling further for the time being. Fortunately, Castiel did not insist on arguing.

Food was brought to their table a short while later, potatoes and a small roasted bird of some kind. It wasn’t enough for Dean, but he had to keep up appearances a while longer. Once they reached his castle, he could have all the meat he wanted. The pair of adventurers ate and drank in exhausted silence and when they were finished, they took the rickety stairs two at a time. Dean fumbled with the key as he tried to unlock the door to let them inside and Castiel had to take over.

What the hell was going on? The Demon King knew something was not right. Sure, he had been tired when they arrived, but now he was almost literally dead on his feet, dizzy, and woozy. Someone had poisoned him. They should leave, they were in danger in the little inn. Dean couldn’t seem to summon the energy to tell Castiel that something was very wrong. His mind was as sluggish as his body.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice sounded far away in the haze that saturated his senses. Why couldn’t Dean seem to speak? It should frighten him that someone had so easily been able to tamper with his food or, more likely, his drink, but the fog had settled over him and he was too exhausted to feel anything but the intense desire for sleep.

He found he was leaning against Castiel as the elf helped him onto the bed. His companion’s body was warm and hard against his own. It was a pleasant sensation, touching the elf. As his head hit the pillow stuffed with sweet-smelling hay, Dean tried once more to say something, anything to Castiel, but no words were formed. The fatigue took over and his eyes drifted shut. When, if, he woke up in the morning, perhaps he would feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

The condition of Castiel’s companion was unnerving. It was clear that Dean had been intentionally incapacitated. Whatever the attacker had used was not enough to kill the man, but Castiel was unsure of how long he would sleep. He was torn between staying at his muin’ellon’s bedside and returning to the tavern to investigate. They would need to know who did this, and he was uncertain how many people would have had access to their food or drink before it arrived at their table. It was also possible that it had been their unseen enemy’s intention to drug both men, but Castiel’s elven nature granted him a high tolerance for most potions and poisons.

Deciding it was best for them to stay together, especially with Dean’s current state, Castiel took up residence on the old wooden chair in the corner of the little room to watch over his friend. Should anyone try to attack him in his sleep, the elf would be there to stop them. 

Time passed slowly, uneventfully as Castiel remained near-motionless in his shadow-covered corner. Dean's slumber was restless and he was snoring lightly, tangled comically in the red cloak he'd been too enfeebled to remove. But he seemed at peace in his deep sleep, untroubled for the first time since they’d met. A sliver of moonlight washed through the small window and bathed his face, lending an inhuman beauty to his features. His chin seemed sharper, his cheekbones higher, and if Castiel squinted Dean’s nose seemed to come to point at the tip. The sight filled the elf’s heart with… something, though he wasn’t yet sure what. When had the elf begun to think of his human muin’ellon as beautiful?

His thoughts were interrupted by a noise at the locked door to their shared room. Feet were shuffling on the other side and Castiel heard the _snick_ of a lockpick being inserted into the door. He was on his feet in an instant, bow already drawn and an arrow nocked. Backing up as far as he could into the corner, Castiel hoped the shadows would obscure his presence enough to give him the advantage against who-, or what-, ever was about to come through that door. There was a click as the pin was pushed into place and then the knob was turning.

The warm light of the torches that hung on the walls of the corridor spilled through the door as it opened, obscured only by whoever stood in the doorway. It was impossible to be sure what sort of creature it was, as the shadow cast seemed impossibly long. As the door swung wide, the very same halfling they’d seen twice before was revealed. Castiel’s suspicion that the intent had been to poison him as well as Dean was all but confirmed by this revelation. The little man was clearly holding a grudge about the slaughter of his ruffians. 

He entered the room, two shadow-shrouded figures trailing behind him. It seemed that the halfling had acquired new thugs to do his dirty work. With a cursory look around the room, the intruder appeared to realize something wasn’t quite as it should be. Castiel should have struck then, while he knew he still had the advantage of surprise, but something stilled him from loosing the arrow and he waited.

“Where is the elf?” the halfling asked his associates. They muttered something in response, but it was unearthly and in a language Castiel did not recognize. “Well, I suppose it's not very important.” He made his way over to the bed and held a hand out over Dean’s face, and then shook his head. “I can’t believe it. He breathes. He cannot possibly be human.” Something whispered by one of the halfling’s companions, and he nodded. “I used enough Nightshade to kill a horse. Well, no matter. You’ll just have to kill him now.”

He stepped back as the shadows dropped away from one of the brutes, revealing a tall creature with several horns protruding from it's skull. It's violet skin all but glowed translucently in the moonlight, and it's body was unnaturally thin as it leaned over the sleeping human. A long arm with too many elbows extended in front of it, flexing hand revealing sharp, lengthy claws at the end of it's four fingers. Castiel could not wait any longer, not if he wished to save his sleeping muin’ellon from this halfling and it's demons.

He touched the tip of his finger to the still nocked arrow, and whispered a word of power, gaer calad, and the magic took hold. Castiel loosed the arrow, and the holy energy encased in it's head crackled as it flew through the air before releasing an explosion of bright white light as it was embedded in the flesh of the demon. The elf felt the scream more than he heard it, throbbing in his bones, reverberating throughout multiple planes of existence, rattling his very core.

The holy light burned away the shadows concealing the dying fiend’s twin and he rounded on Castiel, waves of anger rolling through the room toward him. The elf nimbly nocked a second arrow while simultaneously imbuing it with the same power as the first. A single, deep calming breath as the beast began its charge, clawed fingers raised high above him and he let the second arrow fly, shielding his eyes from the burst of light as another scream pierced the dimensions.

When his vision returned, the slippery halfling was gone again and Dean stirring in his bed. His companion was sitting up in the bed now, and Castiel couldn’t help but noticed his skin looked… different, darker and almost glowing. Perhaps it was just a play of the light or his mind wandering off with the halfling’s words.

“What have I missed?” Dean asked, eyeing the smouldering piles of ash that were all that was left of the two demons that had come to finish what that shin licking hill goblin started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

After the incident at The Giant’s Heart, they decided it best that they stay away from cities and towns for the rest of their quest. Castiel had made sure to purchase enough provisions to last until they reached the gates of the Demon King’s domicile, and if he was entirely honest with himself, they were much closer to their destination than Dean cared to be. Soon enough, he would have to reveal himself to the elf he’d been spending all his hours with, and as though that weren’t enough to cause him discomfort, Castiel hadn’t looked at him the same since they’d left Kara’s Vale. Dean couldn’t help but feel the elf had withheld details about what had happened that night. The relative silence in which they traveled became increasingly uncomfortable with every step. Why it bothered him so much that his companion seemed to think differently of him now, Dean couldn’t place a finger on.

When the sunlight began fading, they found a clearing to set up their camp for the night. Dean stayed on the forest floor, setting up his tent and bedroll, while Castiel took up a perch in the tall tree above him, as was usual. He was a sight to behold with the last rays of the evening sun cast across his golden skin, his not quite delicate countenance peaceful as he rested comfortably against the trunk of the old sycamore. The towering limbs of the tree seemed to curve toward him, the leaves casting playful shadows against his face. The scene pulled at Dean’s heartstrings, seeming to play an unfamiliar tune. It was an oddly overwhelming feeling, and he had to turn his eyes away from the elf.

He was too road-weary to eat, so he simply laid back on the ground, situating himself so he could see the stars through an opening in the forest canopy. Perhaps his time with Castiel was changing him, or maybe it was a side-effect of having nearly died, but he seemed to appreciate the beauty of the natural world in a way he never had before. And though he still preferred to sleep indoors, he had come to understand the appeal of having nothing but the black night sky for a blanket. Dean’s thoughts drifted between the small moments he’d shared with Castiel, the times that the elf’s face had shone as he regaled Dean with tales of Isynlenor. What was it like to have a home like that? Friends and family that he could miss while he was away, and who would miss him in return? For the first time, Dean felt the ache of longing.

The stars above him quickly faded, obfuscated by the storm clouds being blown in by an unseasonably cold wind. It didn’t take long for the rain to begin falling, the fat, chill drops splattering on his face. For once, he had no desire to make it stop. The cold rain probably wouldn’t bother Castiel in the slightest, but in a deep, hidden part of himself, Dean felt the need to offer the elf some modicum of shelter from this storm he’d unintentionally created. He stood, pausing below the sturdy limb his companion perched on, and without looking up he said, “there’s enough room in my tent for two.” 

A moment passed as Dean stood there, silently waiting for an answer. When none was received, he ducked into the shelter of his tent and made himself as comfortable as he could on the bed roll. He listened to the spatter of the heavy rain against the waterproofed fabric of his tent and tried, unsuccessfully, to let it lull him to sleep. What was going on with him? It was unseemly, a demon of his stature being unable to tame his emotions enough to quiet a bit of rain.

Did it matter? This journey would end soon, one of two ways. Dean wasn’t fond of either possibility. He would rather the quest last forever, but even if he could convince Castiel to stray from the path to the castle, he wouldn’t be able to keep up the illusion of humanity interminably. Eventually, the elf would discover his identity and try his hardest to kill him. Perhaps it was for the best that they wouldn’t be on the road together for much longer. There was a bright flash of lightning, followed by thunder booming above the campsite. The storm was growing worse.

Dean felt a gust of chilly air as the entrance to his tent was opened. He didn’t turn toward it, and as the breeze continued, it was easy to imagine Castiel standing there, trying to decide if he should enter. There was a _snap_ of fabric as the canvas fell shut. Even with the rain pounding loudly against his shelter, Dean could hear the elf’s slow, steady breathing. His own breath hitched in his chest as Castiel lay next to him, close enough that Dean could feel the warmth emanating from him. Trying to slow the heart pounding against his ribs, the Demon King didn’t speak or move. The tension in the silence between the two men was palpable, but Dean dared not be the one to break it.

“I know you are not human,” the elf said quietly behind him, finally dispersing the strain that had existed in their friendship for the last several days. “I assume you have your reasons for keeping up with this disguise, and I will not push you to reveal yourself to me. I don’t know what you are. It is important to me that you feel you can trust me. You saved my life, and I saved yours. We are on even terms again, and without any debt overshadowing us, I am choosing to trust you, muin’ellon.”

The words broke Dean’s heart. The elf had not only made the conscious decision to trust him, but he’d called him friend, though he probably thought Dean didn’t understand Elvish. An unfamiliar emotion crashed through him. 

Guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel was glad to have eased the tension that had grown between them, it made their journey and the time they spent together much more pleasant, but he’d count himself a fool if he hadn’t noticed the profound sadness that seemed to lurk behind Dean’s mask of happiness. Only a few days remained until they approached the terminus of their quest. He hoped Dean would stay with him after it was over; that perhaps, one day, he would be comfortable enough in their gwent, their friendship, to reveal his nature to Castiel.

For now, he was eager to hear anything the man chose to tell him, trusting that his words were not lies. The elf felt as though he’d learned much about his muin’ellon’s character, the sort of man he was. Castiel had realized Dean cared for the helpless when he fearlessly approached a hulking bear, somehow managing to calm it enough to allow him to remove the large thorn that impaled it's paw. The man was fiercely protective of the people he cared about, at least the elf believed Dean cared about him. It was a quality they shared and it had already saved both of them.

Castiel noticed that although Dean continued to wear his human disguise, he was able to catch little glimpses of what he believed was the man’s natural form. Since he had accepted the idea that his companion was not human, Dean didn’t seem to mind the slips in his masquerade. It was only small things that were noticeable. An elongated ear, seen from the corner of the elf’s eye and disappearing when he looked at it directly, the subtle darkening of skin when the sun beat down them, a wicked sharpness to his cheekbones. He found himself wondering if Dean found his true form ugly and if maybe that was why he chose to hide it. Though he never said it aloud, Castiel was certain the man would be beautiful in any form he chose to take.

They had come to the edge of the forest hours ago, and now the path took them over vast, open fields of golden grain. Castiel itched to be near trees again, where he felt most comfortable, where he wasn’t so very exposed. It felt like a disadvantage, but anyone, or anything, that approached them would be just as visible as they were. He took comfort in the fact that Dean walked beside him, cloak swishing with each step, whistling a tune that Castiel did not recognize. Perhaps someday, he would have the opportunity to introduce his friend to elvish music, though he wouldn’t be able to hear it all as only the forest elves could perceive the voices of the centuries old trees in Isynlenor.

He was wrapped up in his thoughts and it took him a moment to realize that Dean’s pleasant song had ceased. The man had stopped short, and appeared to be listening intently. What could he possibly be hearing that Castiel himself was unaware of? Perhaps he wasn’t listening at all, the elf suspected upon further observation, he was _feeling_ something. Abject terror shone in his eyes and that surely meant it was nothing good.

The elf gazed across the endless grasslands and saw a silhouette in the distance. It was hard to tell what it was from so far away, but it appeared to be mostly humanoid. The only exception was the large appendages that spread away from its body. Wings, maybe? Even with his sharp eyesight, he couldn’t tell yet.

“Castiel,” Dean said quietly, seemingly frozen to the road on which he stood, “you need to run. Right now, before it gets any closer.” The sincerity with which he said it was heart-wrenching. Whatever was approaching them, no matter how terrified he appeared to be, he was prepared to face it head-on while Castiel ran to safety.

“Absolutely not. I am not leaving you to fight this creature alone.”

“Castiel, please, we don’t have time to discuss this.” Dean took the elf’s hands in his, squeezing them and looking at him with sad, pleading green eyes. “That is a dragon. A very old, very powerful dragon. You are a very capable warrior, but you don’t have a prayer against that. I don’t want to watch you die.”

It was too late for Dean’s pleas, however, Castiel had already made up his mind. He planted his feet and stared sternly into his friend’s eyes as he extricated his hand and drew the longsword from it's sheath at his hip with the resounding ring of metal against metal. He would stay and fight the dragon at Dean’s side, and if they died, they would part this world together. Dean seemed to understand his meaning, and he turned to face the approaching menace with a resigned sigh.

“You’re a fool, muin’ellon,” he muttered, surprising Castiel yet again. When they were done here, if they survived, he would have questions for Dean.

The dragon was closer now, its wings spread wide behind it. Castiel could see that nearly every part of it was some shade of gold. The sunlight sparkled off the scales of its wings and its skin, though paler than Castiel’s, shone brightly. It was almost blinding to look at in the midday sun, but the elf refused to look away. They stood their ground as it advanced on their position and before long it stood only feet away. It's reptilian eyes were brilliantly yellow, and instead of hair, it's head was covered in armored golden scales. 

He’d heard stories as a young child about dragons that could shapeshift into any manner of human or beast, but the elf never imagined he would witness it firsthand. It was awe inspiring and terrifying at once. It's voice reverberated in Castiel’s bones as it spoke in the ancient language of dragons. He couldn’t hear the words, but their meaning was clear.

The dragon didn’t tolerate trespassers. It grew rapidly, transforming into its natural state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)


	10. Chapter 10

The dragon towered over them, it's long tail wrapping almost completely around itself and it's wings stretching high enough to blot out the blue of the summer sky. It struck an imposing, near-blinding figure as the sunlight reflected in every direction off its brassy scales. Dean wished Castiel would have listened to him and run back toward the woods where he would be safe, but it was too late to turn back now. The dragon’s powerful timbre vibrated the air around it when he spoke.

“We meet again, Demon King,” it said in its native tongue. Castiel wouldn’t be able to understand the draconian, he was sure, but the threat was clear. If his elf had listened, Dean would have been given the opportunity to revert to his natural form, but there was no way he could do that now. Instead, he wrapped himself in a cloud of magic and conjured two greatswords. His strength allowed him to wield each in only one hand, and he was certain he would need all the help he could get.

“This will be the last we meet, Xyrrantid,” Dean shouted in draconian at the gargantuan creature before them. He was terrified, to be certain, but not for his own life. He was immortal; the dragon could only send him to the nether plane from whence he’d come. But Castiel was a simple wood elf. Not an immortal. If Dean couldn’t protect him, he would die in this fight. The Demon King was not prepared to let that happen.

The dragon did not wait for him to prepare for battle; he beat his wings viciously, flattening a fifty yard swath of tall grass in front of him. The wind it generated buffeted and beat at Dean, but he managed to keep his feet. A glance at his companion informed him that Castiel had remained standing as well. The elf was wasting no time, already nocking an arrow on his bow as Xyrrantid lifted off the ground to hover, unreachable, above them. A whispered word as Castiel’s finger caressed the arrow was drowned out by the deafening roar of the ancient creature that hunted Dean. The shaft flew gracefully through the sky, causing an earth shattering screech of pain from the dragon as it hit its mark.

Dean could only watch helplessly as one huge taloned foot swept across the road in response, the impact sending the elf flying so far into the grass that Dean was unable to see where his companion had landed. Time seemed to slow around the Demon King. Turning back to face the dragon, an unearthly howl that resonated through the seven planes escaped him. In his anguish, Dean let his human facade fall away. He spread his wings to their full span and took to the sky.

“This is how we were meant to battle,” the ancient beast cried out, swinging his tail at Dean like a massive pummel.

The Demon King dodged it, his ire fueling him as he rose above Xyrrantid and dove at him. Tucking his wings against his body, he extended his arms beneath him, leading with vicious claws. If the dragon were quicker, Dean would have plummeted straight into the hard-packed earth beneath him, but Xyrrantid wasn’t fast enough. Dean’s dive made contact with the dragon’s side, the armored hide doing nothing to stop the Demon King’s talons from tearing a hole in the flesh. Dean attacked with frenetic speed, powered by rage, bloodlust, and pain, as the dragon bit at him with its massive maw and swiped at him with its sharp talons.

Constant streams of blood from new wounds appeared, and nothing the ancient one did could stop the maddened attacks of the Demon King, near mindless with fury and grief. The rents in the dragon’s flesh were small, but they were many, and a massive, bloody tear in one wing made it impossible for the beast to remain aloft as it sent a stream of its fire breath in the direction of its assailant without hitting its mark. It crashed into the ground and were he slower, Dean would have been crushed beneath it.

The dragon’s breathing was heavy and labored, keens of pain shaking the ground it lay upon. It was dying, slowly and painfully, as Dean wished it to. The worst of the fight was behind him now, and the frenzy that had coursed through his veins was ebbing. His thoughts were on Castiel, and he turned away from the fading behemoth to find his companion. He was stopped by the wheezing breath of the suffering creature behind him. 

“You... have changed,” Xyrrantid said, as softly as a creature the likes of him could. “You wish... to find... the elf.” His breaths were ragged between words.

“His name is Castiel.” Dean turned to face the monster. “He is my muin’ellon.”

“You… feel… affection for him.” The air trembled around Dean and Xyrrantid. The Demon King found that without realizing it, he’d shifted back to the human form Castiel had become accustomed to.

“Yes. I must go to him.” Dean almost turned to leave the creature again, but he hesitated, struck by a feeling that was becoming more and more familiar. Regret. “I am sorry, Xyrrantid. I didn’t want this battle. I had no desire to cause you pain.”

“This… Castiel… has changed you… Demon King,” the dragon replied. It grew weaker with every passing moment. Dean could feel its life ebbing away, and eager as he was to go to Castiel, Xyrrantid was right. His time with the elf had changed him, in ways he couldn’t have imagined. He sat with the old dragon until it breathed its last, and then Dean set across the plain in the direction his friend had been thrown.

He shook Castiel by the shoulders upon finding him bruised and bloodied, but still breathing. The elf’s eyes opened fractionally and as he tried to speak, Dean wrapped his arms around him, sighing with relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know people were excited about the dragon. I'm sorry I killed him, but he _had_ to die. 
> 
> Our friends are nearing the end of their journey. Any guesses on what happens next? 
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)


	11. Chapter 11

Pain shot through Castiel as he was shaken. His body felt broken, but when he opened his eyes he was met by the familiar green of his muin’ellon staring down at him. Dean had survived. There was blood splattered across his face, but he had faced the dragon and lived and he was here with Castiel.

“Thank all the gods. You’re alive.” Dean’s arms wrapped around him in a warm, if agonizing, embrace. “We need to get you somewhere safe, now.”

He could not manage to hold his eyes open any longer, and his friend’s soothing voice dwindled as the black of unconsciousness overtook him.

* * *

  
Castiel’s eyes opened, just barely, and through the fog that permeated his mind he thought he saw wings above him. Huge and dark, leathery like a bat’s, they beat hard and fast against the air, they were taking him higher until he thought he might be able to reach out and touch the clouds.

Everything seemed to smell of Dean, the air in his lungs thick was the man’s scent. It was comforting and Castiel was soon overtaken by an oblivion that was starting to become familiar.

* * *

 

Voices. Unfamiliar, preternatural utterances. They floated through the air like leaves falling from a tree. The language they spoke felt old and powerful, and Castiel knew he had heard it somewhere before but he was too enervated to recall it with any precision. His eyes were too heavy to open, his body too torpid to move. A murky mist enveloped Castiel’s senses and confusion muddled his usually orderly thoughts.

Perhaps it would be best if he rested just a while longer.

* * *

 

The warmth of sunlight bathed his face, slowly beckoning Castiel into the waking world. His eyes were unfocused as they opened and above him hovered an odd-looking face. The cheeks were too wide and bone jutted from the corners of iridescent violet eyes. Its skin was a soft, nacreous coral and short, rounded horns jutted from its forehead. A demon! Impossible. The elf blinked the sleep from his eyes and forced himself to focus on the… woman. It was only a woman. Though her cheeks were a touch wide and rosy, her eyes were a dull blue and there were certainly no horns to be found.

Castiel’s slumber-addled mind had been playing tricks on him. Where was he? Where was Dean? The elf sat bolt upright, nearly toppling the woman that had been watching over him to the floor. “Where is Dean?”

“Calm down, leafling. Dean is fine.” She opened the door to a wardrobe and pulled out a tunic and leggings that Castiel had brought along in his pack. Laying them at the foot of the bed, she smiled and he noticed her teeth seemed too sharp, too pointed for an otherwise human woman. “He will be glad to hear that you are awake. Now, get dressed and I will take you to him.”

Between his hazy vision of a demon standing over his bed and the not-quite-human smile of his apparent caretaker, suspicion had taken root in Castiel’s mind. He needed to find Dean immediately. He would not wait for someone to take him to his muin’ellon. He quickly pulled the leggings on, wincing at the pain where his ribs hadn’t quite finished healing. The tunic was put on more gingerly but still with haste. His weapons were nowhere in sight, so he supposed he would have roll the dice unarmed and hope he didn’t get caught sneaking around.

The door didn’t make a sound as Castiel pushed it open with a light touch, peeking out into the corridor. It appeared to be empty so, staying low he moved along the wall of the seemingly endless hall and encountered no one. Not a single soul seemed to be present, not even the woman who had been looking after him. It was eerily quiet. His hair stood on end as he rounded a corner and the corridor suddenly emptied into a large, wide room. It was almost as empty as everything else had been so far, except for a single creature standing in front of a large throne built from bones.

The Demon King.

Castiel cursed himself for not having taken the time to find some sort of weapon, anything that could be used against the fiend. Incensed, he stepped out into the throne room only to stop short when the demon turned to face him.

The creature was impossibly tall, towering over Castiel even with its knees bent, and thin. Lithe, actually. The elf could see the ripple of powerful muscle in its chest and shoulders as it repositioned itself. Its skin was opalescent black, almost shimmering where rays or errant sunlight fell upon it. When he was finally able to make himself look at the demon’s face it seemed almost familiar. The too high cheekbones, the long, sharp chin and pointed nose. Its ears were even longer than Castiel’s, coming to points that touched against the curving ebony horns that sprouted from just above its forehead. Batlike wings that emerged from its shoulder blades loomed behind it, but the most startling thing about the Demon King was the ridiculous carmine cape that swished with every movement. Crimson eyes met Castiel’s and the elf was sure the demon looked surprised.

“Castiel!” it exclaimed, in a voice he had become almost intimately familiar with.

His eyes widened in shock and disbelief as the hulking thing moved toward him So many things began to make sense. How had Castiel not seen it? Had he been too blinded by his affection for Dean to realize that his muin’ellon and the Demon King were one and the same? His emotions became overwhelming and he stumbled back a step, before turning on his heel and running back down the hall, wiping tears from his eyes. He heard Dean’s voice calling out to him again but he could not turn around. Everything he thought he knew was falling apart before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)


	12. Chapter 12

Dean had planned to ease Castiel into the revelation of his true identity. There was always the possibility the elf would still try to kill him, but the way their relationship had developed had given him hope there would be a chance. He was certain that was no longer the case. He paced in front of his throne, mind racing until he couldn’t stand it any longer. Taking long strides down the corridor, Dean shifted into the human form he had worn for the duration of his journey home. Pausing in front of the door, he drew a deep, shuddering breath before pulling it open.

The sunlight had only just spilled across the stone floor when Castiel jerked Dean through the opening and slammed him against the wall. The elf was stronger than he looked, more powerful in his fury. The Demon King didn’t try to free himself, though no matter how mighty his friend was in his anger, it would be nothing to overpower him.

“You are a fool, Dean,” Castiel spat, holding him against the wall with his forearm. “I trusted you, cered’fura!”

“I know, Castiel.” The overwhelming guilt made him stumble over his words. “Gohena-nin. Please, muin’ellon.” Unbidden, his hand moved to brush a tear from the elf’s cheek. “I am sorry.”

“You should have told me the truth!” He pulled Dean forward as he spoke, smashing him back into the wall to emphasize his feelings. 

The Demon King was at a loss for words. He was a liar, a fraud, and Castiel had every right to be angry. Dean was opening his mouth to tell him so when the elf’s lips crashed into his. The harsh kiss bruised his lips and ignited a passion within him. When Castiel pulled back suddenly, his arm dropping away from Dean, the demon pulled his muin’ellon’s body against his, pressing an equally forceful kiss onto the elf’s mouth, catching his lower lip between pointed teeth and tasting the coppery tang of blood on his tongue.

Castiel’s arms were around him, pulling the Demon King closer, fingers digging into the flesh of his back. In moments, they were breathless. Castiel rolled his hips against Dean, pressing the steel of his arousal into him. Needing to feel more, Dean grasped at the elf’s tunic with both hands and tore it in half to expose his lover. The men broke apart, only long enough to shed their clothes and let the fabric pool softly on the floor.

Dean wanted to take a moment to admire Castiel in his nudity, but the elf would have none of it, closing the space between them swiftly so their bodies crashed together. Dean’s cock throbbed with need and groans escaped him as Castiel’s lips traveled across his jawline and down his neck, leaving a wet trail behind them. The elf bit down hard on his shoulder and he spun them, walking Dean backward until they toppled onto the bed.

The Demon clutched at Castiel, bucking slightly, searching for friction, but the elf put a hand on his hip and forced stillness upon him. Dean let him, his breathing labored and moans of pleasure falling from his lips every time his lover nipped at his flesh between strings of elvish curses; every time fingertips dug into his sides and thighs. He was lost to the elf’s punishing touches, the deep gravel in his angry words, the lust that darkened his blue eyes.

Castiel gripped Dean’s thigh roughly, putting the leg up over his shoulder. Dean cried out when the elf’s fingers breached him, the burn of being stretched so suddenly sending waves of ecstasy surging through him and making him ache for Castiel to fill him. His hands traveled the sweat-sheened skin of the man above him, one pulling him closer to silence his curses with a fervent, needy kiss. The other closed around Castiel’s leaking cock, squeezing and stroking roughly, as Dean devoured the feverish sounds he made. The thrusting of persistent fingers was driving him mad, brushing against the bundle of nerves on his inner wall with increasing speed and leaving him feeling as though he would burst.

“Castiel…” It was a keening whine, a plea. Dean barely recognized his own voice as he repeated the elf’s name like some sacred spell, begging him for more; for anything he would give. “Please.”

With a low growl, the elf grabbed both of Dean’s wrists, moving them above the demon’s head where he could trap them against the bed with only one hand. Using the other to guide his cock, Castiel lined up and buried himself to the hilt in one thrust. Dean cried out at the fullness he felt, grateful for his magic’s ability to ease the elf’s way. 

Castiel pulled out almost entirely and slammed into him again, setting a punishing pace that pulled cries of pleasure from Dean's lips and pushed his body further up the bed with each harsh thrust. His cock ached for release, but his lover kept his hands pinned to the bed as he pounded into him. The elf's other hand gripped his hip, leaving impressions in Dean's flesh as he was pulled down on Castiel's cock. The room filled with the scent of their sex and the sounds of their ecstasy.

The heat built inside him as filthy words and broken curses fell from Castiel's lips between his own grunts of pleasure and exertion until Dean could hold back no longer. Forcefully freeing his hand he pulled the elf against him, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss and letting the friction of his cock against the hard muscle of his lover's stomach push him over the edge. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through his body as he spilled himself on his belly and he shook with the release.

Castiel's hips stuttered, any semblance of rhythm lost as he chased his own climax. Moments later, he collapsed over Dean, his cock pulsing and filling the demon with his seed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cered'fura roughly translates to maker of lies (liar) gohena-nin means forgive me 
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)


	13. Chapter 13

The sun had set by the time Castiel’s eyes opened again, feeling the heat of Dean’s body at his back. He’d taken his true form once again as they slept, and was now curled protectively around the elf, one strong arm holding them together. Though his ire had subsided, he still expected an explanation for his melethron’s deceit. For now, Castiel would enjoy this moment of intimacy between them.

He turned in Dean’s arms, taking in the features of his true face, unfamiliar but not entirely different from the human face his companion had worn during the many weeks they’d spent at each other’s sides. Until now, Castiel had never thought a demon could be something he might consider beautiful. But the way the moonlight made Dean’s skin shimmer was nothing short of astonishing. The soft glow on his face revealed tiny protrusions of bone around his eyes that only served to make his unnaturally high cheekbones more prominent. The elf reached out to touch the long horns that wrapped around behind the Demon King’s ears, feeling the ridges of the rings that spiraled them.

“I can don the other face if you prefer it,” Dean said quietly and without opening his eyes. His voice was the same, only laced with some mysterious power that Castiel hadn’t noticed when he happened upon him in the throne room. He found it enchanting, and at that moment wondered how the prophecy could have ever intended him to take the heart of such a resplendent creature.

“I find you alluring no matter which face you wear,” Castiel admitted.

Dean sighed in relief and tension left his body. As if there could be any doubt how the elf felt about him. They lay together like that for some time, Castiel continuing his silent explorations of this new body. Eventually, the Demon King opened his eyes and the elf could read the uncertainty in them.

“If you still wish to complete your quest, I will not fight you.”

Castiel was shocked. Of course, he no longer planned to kill the man. He had been angry, wounded by the deception from someone he had grown to trust, but in the end, that couldn’t change the way he felt. His heart had swelled every time he caught sight of Dean looking at him when he thought the elf wouldn’t notice. And it had broken when he’d seen Dean hurt or afraid.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Castiel asked, meeting Dean’s gaze. “I trusted you, and I asked you to return the sentiment. Why couldn’t you?

“Castiel, I…” Dean sighed, and rubbed his brow. “Initially, I didn’t expect to enjoy your company. I thought it would be fun to go on this quest with you, test your mettle as a warrior. And eventually to best you in combat. I’m not really certain when things changed, but they did. After that… I had no way to know how you truly felt about me. I wanted to confess everything to you that night in the tent, but I was afraid. The right time to tell you never came.”

“But you brought me here to recover from my injuries.” Castiel remembered one of the feverish memories he’d thought was a dream. “You were flying.”

“It was the fastest way to travel while you were unconscious. I didn’t think you would remember.”  
Dean shifted on the bed, putting distance between them and closing his eyes for a moment. “I thought I was going to lose you, Castiel. It was no longer important to disguise myself. All that mattered was that I save your life.”

“When I woke, you weren’t there. I had to find you. That is why…” Castiel paused in his explanation and breathed deeply. “You were my first thought when my mind cleared, Dean.”

“It wasn’t my intention for you to find out that way. I was going to tell you.” Dean’s voice broke slightly as he continued. “I was going to ask you to stay with me. When I turned and saw the look on your face…”

A pregnant silence hung between the two men as Castiel processed everything Dean had shared. The Demon King was sincere, of that he was sure. The elf didn’t want to leave him, but he didn’t want to stay there. Not in the stone palace, without a tree in sight. He needed to be in the forest, needed to hear the whispering voices of old oaks and the singing of tall sycamores. It was part of his identity.

“I am not going to kill you. I can’t,” Castiel said, breaking the solemn quiet. “I did not expect things to come to this, either. Nothing will ever be the same for me, Dean. I suspect you feel the same way.” Dean just nodded glumly, waiting for the elf to finish. “Do you love me? Are we fa’angwed? I feel there is an unfathomable bond between us. I am not ready to let that go.”

“Castiel, ni mil-edhel nin. Until I met you, I thought it impossible for demons to feel such a thing. But I love you with all of my being. Will you stay with me?” The hope in his eyes nearly broke the elf. Perhaps he could stay in this castle, as long as Dean was at his side. But even the momentary thought of it felt empty. 

“I cannot stay here, melethron. This place is far too unlike my home. Even with you, I could never be happy within these walls.”

Dean nodded his understanding, and cast his sad eyes down. Silently, he pulled Castiel close to him again and held him as though it were the last time. The elf’s mind raced through his memory of the time the two of them had spent with each other, the trek from Whitebridge to the Demon King’s domicile. The spark of a brilliant idea caught fire and burned away any misery Castiel might have felt.

“What we need is a new quest.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if you guys realize this, but it is ridiculously difficult to find online English-> Sindarin translators that don't suck haha.
> 
> For anyone who is unfamiliar, Sindarin is one of the two dialects most commonly used by Tolkein's elves. Some of the words I used in this fic are direct translations, others are a bit bastardized for my purposes. 
> 
> Creative license is a thing. And Tolkein is dead, so I doubt he'll be doing anything about it. 
> 
> Tell me what you think! Share your own fantasy ideas! Yell at me! 
> 
> Or come yell at me on tumblr [cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/)


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